Unwritten Memoir
by Rosiell
Summary: [Hakkai-centric, 838 shounen-ai in later chapters] When all is lost, death becomes an unreachable dream
1. Chapter 1: The First Sorrows

I had originally planned for this to be a one-shot, but it proved to be too long. Apologies for possible inconsistency on the tenses: I'm used to writing in the past tense, and when I wrote the first parts I unconsciously switch back to the past tense. Meep.

Shounen-ai will come in later chapters.

Title: Unwritten Memoir

Series: Saiyuki

Author: Rosiell

Warning/s: Shounen-ai, character death, dark/morbid images, language. Spoilers (a whole ton of them, at that.)

Pairing: Hakkai + Sanzo + Hakkai

Genre: Angst/Supernatural

Rating: R

Summary: When all is lost, Death becomes an unreachable dream. 

Notes: --Written in the reader's POV.

--You may find Hakkai OOC at first (more like a combination of him, Tenpou and Gonou). It will be explained as you read on.

--Hakkai's childhood is based on the TV series.

--Spoilers on Hakkai's history. 

Special thanks to: Hibiemi, for assuring me that Hakkai's actions are still in the area of his three selves (Hakkai, Tenpou and Gonou), and to those who answered my question. I worry about detail a little more than necessary... 

*~*~*

Chapter 1

The First Sorrows

You find yourself walking in a dark stone corridor, dimly lit by the dying torch flames that are hanging from the rusted iron torch brackets on the wall on your left. The air was dry, dry as if Draught herself had visited just recently. You become thirsty, but you walk on. 

As you become accustomed to the soft light, you begin to notice the details of the corridor that had previously escaped your attention. There are thin cracks on the walls, some of which intricately branch out to the ceiling and floor. Over the years, the dust had accumulated in the gaps of those cracks and in the corners of the hallway. Nearing the end of the corridor, you see an adjoining passageway going to the left. As you reach the intersection of the two, you see something rather unnerving. The withered corpse of a human is propped up against the corner, accompanied by a frail-looking scroll on one side and a hill of sand on the other. Insects are stacked in a pile next to the corpse, whose clothes were reduced to dirty and frayed rags years ago. Dark, matted hair still clings on to the skull, though you can see the browning bone just above the rim of the eye socket. You turn left, and whatever reaction you had upon seeing the corpse you keep it to yourself. 

The new corridor had the same look as the previous one, yet there is one significant and noticeable difference. Instead of one smooth, stone wall to your right, there is a row of spacious and deep cells with stone columns. There isn't door to enter the cell, nor is there enough space to get out. Inside a few cells are corpses not unlike the one you saw in the corner. You pace the corridor's length slowly, not knowing at the moment why you do so.

Another surprise awaits you inside the cell at the end of the corridor.

In the last cell is a man in his early twenties. He lies sprawled on the cold stone floor as if he is a corpse, head turned away from you, and he would be one but for the gentle rising and falling of his chest. He is wearing a full-sleeved shirt and jeans; details of both were hidden in the shadows of the cell. At the moment his features could not be identified, due to the very dim light and the hair covering his face. He soon stirs from his death's sleep, as if he senses your presence.

He props himself to a sitting position with the use of his arms and legs, shifting a bit to a more comfortable sitting position. A silhouette of his body was the only means by which you could distinguish most of his body in the dark. Though most of his features were still hidden, the torchlight gleams on the monocle on his face. You could sense a strange emotion from him. But before you could identify it, it was suddenly replaced by a feeling of coldness and cruelty. The corners of his lips curved up in a smile that reflected the atmosphere, adding to the eeriness of the scene. 

'Why, hello there,' he says with an air of one who is simply amused. 'It is not often that I get visitors here.' He gestures at his surroundings. 'I don't think we've met before. May I ask what your name is?'

You open your mouth and move your lips. No words could come out. Surprised, your right hand unconsciously strokes your throat in an effort to make your vocal chords work. No response. Damn, you think.

The man in front of you has been watching you all this time. You suddenly have this strong feeling that you are being scrutinized under a microscope. He notices your uneasiness, and as soon as you turn to look at him he smiles cheerfully as if this is a pleasant chat between acquaintances.

'Can't speak, I see. No matter, the others were like that as well.' You can see his eyes clearly now, deep green emeralds that reflect the dim light. You think you see a faint shadow of pain and sorrow, but they disappeared like the earlier emotions did. Fay he seems to you now, the mad shell of what was once a blissful and content person.

Silence for what seems like an hour. You take this time to adjust your senses to the place, to think, and to observe your surroundings and take what information you can about the person in front of you. You discover very few details, but all with an unknown significance. A piece of scrap cloth in the next cell, scratch marks adorning the stone columns and walls of the man's cell, horrible black marks staining the wall at the back of the cell. A faint scent comes to your nose. It takes you a few moments to recall why it is familiar, but as soon as you do your eyes widen with shock. Blood. You look at the stains on the wall with new understanding. That means...

'Yes.' You jump, surprised with the remark. It was as if the man had read your mind. He still studies you; not bothering to conceal his interest. 'It is blood. I am rather amused that you are quick on the uptake, the others couldn't even smell it.'

Others..? 

'Oh, random whatsits that never last long.' He changes his position on the floor. Perhaps he is getting tired of staying in that cell for -- how long? Months? Years? Centuries? You shudder as the memory of the preserved corpse appears again. 'Yes, that corpse was the remains of one of the people who visited,' he continues, not bothered by your opinions on mummies and the like. 'It was a pity he died so soon, the discussions I've had with him were rich. Though he always thought that I should've been burned alive, with all the gruesome and prohibited things I've done.' The grim smile on his face widened. 'He was a conservative person, that one. Assured me of a straight trip to hell once I've died. He didn't need to do so, I'm already in hell...' He pauses, as if reflecting on what "gruesome and prohibited things" he'd done in the past. He shakes his head and murmurs, 'Doesn't matter now, there's no turning back...' Sadness was again the prevalent mood in the air. You look at him, and wonder with mixed curiosity and pity what he had done to be locked up for Kami-knows-how-long. 

'Would you like me to tell you why?'

You nod your head, curiosity getting ahead of you.

'Then sit down, the whole tale's quite long. Besides, you should be tired from all that standing in one position by now.'

You blink, surprised, and lower yourself to the stone floor. You haven't realized how tired you are, and only when you felt the cold surface against the fabric of your clothes did your muscles feel relief. 

You then focus your attention on the man, for he is now beginning to tell the story. He looks detached. The voice that comes from between his pale lips is somewhat cold, tinged with sorrow and bitterness.

'A bitter cup I have stirred for myself. When its intoxicating fumes fill my nostrils, my head spins. I get a sick feeling inside my stomach every time I drink from the dregs of the small, dark brown wooden bowl that held that thick and murky liquid. After the filth has entered me, defiled me, I start to feel a searing pain in my chest, spreading, traveling up to my head, to my arms, down my torso, down until it reaches my toes. I used to writhe in agony, for a million white-hot needles were sinking deep into my skin. Now everything is numb, dull, obsolete even. I watch, as thin layers of blood trickle into a deep basin of iron, now black because of the dried blood that had accumulated through the centuries. The phantoms around me group together, their loud whispers a heated debate on who shall taste my blood. They can have more, for all I care. I am now dead to the world, and therefore I no longer need my body. I wish I could just die on the spot.

'Pity. All that I have described are images of delirium.

'These are the horrors and tortures that haunt my dreams. Those phantoms have returned since his death, and I am once more chained to that cold, stony dungeon wall. Or rather, I am back at that place outside that dungeon cell, watching my lover slowly slipping away. Soon his corpse is swallowed by the darkness, and my world becomes a void. Reality is lost.

'Pathetic, isn't it? A world that was once filled with light is suddenly pitch-black. It isn't impossible, though. It so happened that the sun itself fell from the sky, his flame quenched by the waters of a sea of black and red. Mist covered the world, and stung the hearts of those whose senses were strong enough to pick up such subtle matter. Rain came forth from the mist, a rain of tears...

'But I'm getting ahead of my tale.

'I have told you about the man who thought that I should be burned alive, correct? I won't blame you if you'd wish the same after the end of this tale, for I may truly deserve that fate.' He sighed in melancholy before speaking again.

'Years ago, my unknown parents gave the name Cho Gonou. Back then I was a quiet child, one who loved to read books, stayed indoors most of the time, and frowned a lot. Though I lived in an orphanage that was owned by Christian nuns, I never believed in a God. I hated the place and the people who lived there; faceless hypocrites who only gave lip service to an entity that might not even exist. I remember wishing for the destruction of this imperfect world in hopes that a new one would come. Even if that world weren't perfect, it would be better than this. I now see that I was a fool in thinking so. 

'I left the orphanage as soon as I was old enough to. I searched for my sister, whom they said was alive. I did find her, but not before she became my lover. I learned to smile again...' His voice faded into the silence. The smile on his face is as wide and empty as ever, but you could feel a wave of tension in the air. He struggled to cover every bit of sadness there was before he continues speaking. 

'I applied for a job as a schoolteacher, and got accepted. My happiness increased when Kanan agreed to live with me. Those years of bliss... I felt as if I was the luckiest person alive! Everything was perfect... until misfortune came.

'The sun was setting when I came home from work. The day was as joyous like the others, and I never suspected that anything was wrong. I hopped up the steps to the front door, put my hand on the knob, and turned it. Shock overwhelmed me when I found out that the place was a disaster area. The room was a mess. The furniture were overturned, the dining table in the next room had a leg missing. Vases and glass tops were broken. Signs of a struggle here and there. A piece of plaster came off from the ceiling. Cloth from the curtains and the tables were torn in shreds. I looked down at the floor in front of me. Kanan's apron lay there, muddied and torn on the edges. I picked it up, caressed it, felt it on my face, letting everything sink in. My hand froze, and the apron slid from my hand. Kanan was missing.

'I frantically searched every nook and cranny in the house, adding to the mess in the process. Where had they taken Kanan?! I went to the neighbor's houses. They shut the door at my face immediately after hissing or shouting the explanation. "Kanan has been taken to the Demon lord," they said in cold voices. "Do not try to come after her: it is for the sake of all of us living here." 

'Hatred enveloped me, and I could not think straight. I barged into the office of head of the village council and demanded for an explanation. "Why hadn't you protected her!?" I raged, my voice increasing in volume. "How could you do this? Why didn't you fight?" Some of those present shook their heads sympathetically, while others tried to soothe me in hushed voices. "They would've killed us all if we hadn't. It is the for the sake of the young ones who can't defend themselves-"

"Kanan couldn't defend herself either!" I shouted, shaking in rage. The white walls of the office had successfully contained my voice, and the ceiling fan did nothing to help ease the heavy feeling in the air. "Not only did those bastards take her, you helped them!" 

'Nobody spoke. The air was heavy with emotion, and it was only in a matter of minutes before someone made another statement. "You know very well why we didn't fight back," said a middle-aged man with short, dark hair. "We've already said it to you before, we will say it again. We wanted to avoid the unnecessary bloodshed of the villagers. We humans are weaker than youkai, this is a fact that has been known since man's first memories. Nothing here in Tougenkyou can change this fact. Of course, you may appeal to the gods for help. But you don't believe in a god, do you Gonou?" He smiled mockingly. I punched his jaw for that comment. "How dare you!" I spat, struggling against the limbs that held me back before I could inflict more damage. "Weakling! You don't even know how far you'd go before they'd bring you down! How stupid is this? First you surrender Kanan in hopes to avoid the bloodshed of innocent people, then you tell me that all humans are born weak in comparison to youkai! You gave Kanan only to save your worthless hide, bastard!" One of those who held me captive elbowed me in the face. "Shut up!" he hissed, eyes narrowing to slits. 

"That's enough," said the council head, raising one of his wrinkled hands that had been placed on the surface of a smooth, dull mahogany table. "Take him away." As I was being dragged away from the room and into the empty street, his worn voice followed me in the air. "I warn you Gonou, the next time you cause a ruse you'll be sorry that you did..."' 

You notice that his left hand, which was resting on his knee, is now a shaking fist. The man in front of you didn't seem to notice this. His memories are too vivid, you think. He can describe those scenes very well, detailed as if it had happened yesterday. The burden of his sorrows must have been too great... 

'My anger hadn't subsided when the door was knocked down and I was thrust inside the house. They slammed the door behind them and went back to the town hall, footsteps echoing in the silence. It was past midnight, and most of the villagers were asleep.

'It was that night that I decided to leave the village as soon as possible, but not before making the villagers pay. No one would help me; they were either too weak or too fearful for their hides. Ignorance was the disease of some and cowardice and fear is to others, yet the combination of all three is unacceptable, unforgivable. They were indebted to me for taking away Kanan, my lover and sister, whose life is a thousand times' worth more than theirs. 

'The price proved too great for them to pay in full.' 

*~*~*

End of Chapter 1

I'm still looking for information on the next few parts of Hakkai's history... 

Comments? Suggestions? Musings? Violent reactions? Feel free to send them to me, directly or indirectly. ^.^ 


	2. Chapter 2: Hunting

Does anyone know where to find manga translations of the first four tankoubon? Sorry, my research is in a standstill...

Disclaimer: Saiyuki is owned by Minekura Kazuya. [I have forgotten to type this down during the first chapter. That's bad.]

More notes: --There will be a "slight" change in the character through which you are seeing. This is due to a new plotbubble…

--This is also the chapter wherein Gonou'll start a bloodbath. As I am a person who is fascinated by blood (and almost anything related to it, for that matter), I have tendencies to emphasize the blood and gore. Hence one of the reasons for me to put this under the R section. (How ironic... Should I change it to PG-13? ^.^) 

Thanks for all of the reviews on the previous chapter. They are much appreciated. 

*~*~*

Chapter 2

Hunting

His head slightly bows down as a soft breeze started to surround him, brown hair swaying along with it. You suppress the instinct to draw him near you and run your fingers through the dark locks. Strange, you think, why am I starting to act like this? It's as if I actually feel something for him. Do I actually want to comfort him, an almost complete stranger? His story may be one of woe, but why is it that everything he's telling me is so familiar? Has the loneliness driven him to find pity and sympathy in everyone he meets? No, impossible, you know he is stronger than that. 

Your gaze once again is directed to his eyes, which are now staring at the floor in front of him. 'I know I could have left them alone, but I couldn't help it. Something vicious as a bloodthirsty hound stirs inside me every time something is taken away from me...'

Suddenly you feel a pang of guilt, yet you do not know the exact reason for it. Maybe all will be revealed later. You look up, and to your surprise his gaze at you with the most sorrowful expression that you've seen from him up to this point. Longing, endless waiting, driven to madness by despair and sorrow; countless memories of the past; the deepest wound that had never healed, bled again each time Death came - like the frail flame of a candle, the look disappears as if it was blown away. You wonder: why is it that he hides his emotions before you could make a complete analysis of them? Instinctively, you already know that he could have masked them beforehand. But why didn't he? Why does he choose to show to you a glimpse of his deep wounds? 

He continues before you can clear your mind and organize your thoughts. 

'I got up, the dark flames of hatred and vengeance burning fiercely in my ravished soul. I stumbled into the kitchen and took the knife that lay near the cutting board. The half-sliced onions were still there, giving off the scent of decay...'

You close your eyes and lean comfortably against the wall behind you. Calm was the air about you as your thoughts merged with his. You feel your spirit drawing near the man's own. Your thoughts drift away from your state, yet you do not notice. His voice surrounds the both of you like the mists about the forests near dawn.

'...darkness enveloped me as I went out the door...'

+ + +

A door slams against its wooden frame. Your mind's eye slowly adjusts to its surroundings. The sky is inky black; the moon shines like a beam in a fog, making objects on the ground cast light shadows. The surrounding houses are gray and silver figures in the night. Your ears prick up. Footsteps that walk away from you in a calm pace pick up speed as the moments pass. A man is approaching the house next door. You watch with anticipation, eyes glued to the figure that now kicks the door open and raises the dagger in his hand. Through the gaping doorway you can see a man in his early thirties. Words from the ongoing tale come back to you. "...a middle-aged man with short, dark hair..." His eyes widen.

'What the- Gonou!?'

Cho Gonou smiles eerily and brings down the dagger. Blood gushes forth from the wound that was a line across the other man's abdomen. He looks at his murderer in shock, before collapsing and forming a strange angle on the floor. Within seconds, a small puddle of blood forms beneath the dead body. The first sprays of red liquid stain his clothes and his cheek. The knife is no longer the color of steel. The pale moon shines with a pinkish glow on the blade's smooth surface. Gonou glances back one more time before walking towards the next house, that mad glint still present in his eyes. 

'Darling?' The voice's owner emerges from the house. 'Where-' She catches sight of her husband's corpse, and screams. You cover your ears in pain, for the sound echoed around you. It reverberated in the air and hung there, the herald of many more lamenting voices to come. The light from inside the house spills out the doorway, showing the wife cradle her husband's corpse. Another scream of fright and horror is heard in the next building.

You scramble after the phantom that was quickly fading into the shadows.

Blood was everywhere, gallons of it. He sometimes hangs the entrails of his victims on the posts and racks as if to publicly display his grotesque works. An alarm is raised, yet only a small number responds. These he also killed. Though everything is in black and gray and white (as is everything under the moon's light), you can see in your mind's eye that the vivid crimson color is present in every turn. Perhaps it is what he sees, but you still cannot be certain. He drags another one out of the bed by tugging the victim's hair with great force. Never mind if the scalp is ripped off in the process. He puts the guy back to sleep by tearing out the eyes and ripping the flesh of the torso. Agony plagued him, but Death is merciful. The man's senses turned numb. He will die at dawn, but without seeing the sun rise.

All of the victims were male, and deep down you know the reason why. To him, they are at fault. You could feel Gonou's anguish, his sense of unreality, the anger hidden deep for so long suddenly bursting forth. His logic is already in front of you, clear as text freshly printed on white paper, waiting to be judged. Let he who hath not sinned cast the first stone. 

You watch from a distance, as Gonou drags some of the men out of their houses and mutilates them one by one. The others he threw out of bed before slaying them. As he had thought, most of them are cowards. They flee from the sight of him, but he always catches up and kills them without a word. He did not spare those who begged for mercy, for the only form of justice available to them was a swift stroke of the horribly stained knife. With the blood of his victims, he writes messages on the walls of the houses that were white minutes before. Traitors. Cowards. Beasts that feed off the meat and fat of their neighbors. Why must it be that you do this? Just because my sister and I are outsiders doesn't mean you have to treat us like a people apart! All of you who die tonight deserve this fate. He caught up with another and ripped the heart from the chest with the use of both his hands and knife.

He ruined half of the town by himself, all in the hours between midnight and dusk.

His mind is in a blur. The part of him that's lamenting over the losses during that night is overpowered by that urge to kill. He silently walks back to his house, leaving a trail of mutilated bodies and footsteps of blood behind him. An occasional sound of dripping is heard, echoing clear above the sounds of lament. Tiny bits and pieces of debris from the buildings he had ravaged are scattered on the street. No one dares to come out and claim their dead while he is on the streets.

The rosy fingertips of Dawn touched the horizon when he put a red stained hand on the doorknob. Only a few more minutes to go before the other half of the village finds out what he'd done. He enters, leaving red marks on the knob and the walls that he passes by as he trails his fingers on the smooth surface. They are red, but not that poignant. The blood on his hands has dried in the cold air outside. Gonou sits on the floor, leans on the wall opposite the house's entrance, and gazes at his hands and arms with lips slightly open in a ghost of a smile. The unreal smile widens on his face. My work here is done, he thinks. Time to hunt down the bastards who took her away. He ignores his surroundings. He didn't bother to put his home in order, not even the books in his study. 

His other self is silenced with harsh words. A numb sensation takes over his senses. An ache that tries to make itself felt lost a war. As he struggles to contemplate on the reason for the cold emptiness he feels, you try to put your hand on his shoulder in sympathy. It merely goes through his arm, as if you are a ghost. What have I done, he silently questions himself. Is it worth it? He convinces himself that he was right in choosing to kill of the traitors in the village. He glances at the knife at his side. I have no other use of this now. It is blunt and tainted. 'Time to get a new weapon...' The knife slips from his idle grasp. He gets up and heads for his room.

You look away in sorrow as he reaches for a dagger hidden in the drawer of his desk. After tucking it away safely in his shirt he crosses the room, past the bed where he had made love to Kanan, past the dining area where they ate the meals she cooked, past the living room where they had spent their precious time together... He gently closes the door behind him and murmurs a soft farewell.

A small tear rolls down your pale cheek. Why does one such as you have to go through all of this? Why did you fool yourself into thinking this is right? You know better than to be caught in a trap like this... 

...don't you, Hakkai?

+ + + 

Your eyes snap open. You are breathing rapidly, and your head was starting to spin when you came 'round. Hakkai... now where did that name come from? Why is it so familiar? Your list of questions grows longer, and none of them are going to be answered any time soon. You look up, and find out that he's staring at you in amazement.

'You're weeping,' he said slowly. 

You hastily wipe your right eye and cheek with your sleeve, all the while glaring at him defiantly. You just hate it when you cry, you feel so vulnerable and weak. You never liked feeling weak, you never have. It was so... So...

'Degrading?'

There is that look of understanding in his eyes. You shift your gaze to the floor in front of you. He had guessed the word you have been searching for, and now your mind was awake and alert. Never before had your thoughts been read this easily, and you never thought it would be.

'Uncomfortable with my guesses?' You shift uneasily in your seat. He chuckles with closed eyes. You glare at him pointedly. 'So sorry, but you had left your thoughts unguarded.' When his eyes opened again, that sorrowful expression is back on his face. 'I once knew a very close friend like you, a long, long time ago. The reason-' His eyes widen. It looks as if he had said too much. He looks down with a blank expression. 'Later. That will come along later.' He smiles again. What is going on in that man's head?

+ + +

By the time the sun was entirely over the hills, Cho Gonou was no where to be found and the entire village had just found out the mess he had made. Relatives and friends sorted through the piles of corpses and entrails in hopes to find a loved one, only to find it and stay away from the remains in disgust. You briefly wonder how it is possible to recognize the past identities of mutilated corpses. You strain your eyes, and to your surprise the faces are not horribly mutilated. Though some are missing a few parts such as the eyes and tongue, with blood here and there, the heads are actually recognizable. You suspect that it is a part of Gonou's revenge. People from nearby towns came and looked at the damage with morbid curiosity. The screams and wails have brought about sufficient attention; the event is going to be the talk and tale of many a villager for a long, long time.

'That man's insane,' says one of the witnesses, who had narrowly escaped death by hiding in a closet in his sister's bedroom. 'His eyes were fierce, animal-like. A relentless panther that hunts in the dark...' He shuddered. Last night's happenings had clearly scared the living daylights out of him.

The village elder says nothing and tightens his grip on his walking stick. In a nearby house there is a loud wail and the voice of a mother trying to soothe her child. Her husband was one of those who had died the previous night. 'May the heavens punish you thrice fold! May my curse haunt you until the day you die!' she cries bitterly through her tears.

You see all of this happen from behind a grove of trees. Beside you is the crouched form on Cho Gonou, who still has that empty smile on his face. He stands up and walks away, satisfied with the outcome. He knows that none of the villagers would come after him today, even if they saw his retreating form. None of them will recognize him with the distance between them, and they would still be grieving too much to care. He also knows that one day one of them will come after him, seeking revenge like he did. 'Let them come,' he murmurs. 'By the time I'm done, they'll not be the only ones looking for me...' 

The sky darkens. A sense of dread comes over him. His smile fades into a frown. Something bad is about to happen to Kanan...

He breaks into a run.

*~*~*

Think there is enough gore? Too much, too little or just right? Any inconsistencies (I hope not)?

Please inform me of any errors existing in the text. Comments, suggestions, and violent reactions are welcome. Thank you.


End file.
